Terrica's Games
by Ronaele Emmett
Summary: After losing her parents, 14 year old Terrica Fink is sent to live with her uncle in District 12. When she is picked to compete in the annual hunger games, along with Jareth Damian, a young boy from her district, her world tips upside down. But in the arena, Terrica quickly figures out that nobody can be trusted. Will the vicious games change her forever?
1. Chapter 1

Part 1: The Betrayal

I start running as soon as the gong sounds. I run about thirty yards, scoop up what looks like a dirty old potato sack, then sprint for the woods.

I should have known that his would happen. This time, the odds were _not_ in my favor. But then, they never really were. Even now, at fourteen years old, my name has been entered into the reaping ball fourteen times. I remember how my heart stopped beating when the obnoxious Capitol lady announced my name to all of District 12; to all of Panem. Terrica Fink.

Jareth Damian, the boy tribute for District 12. Fainted dead away when his name was called. Believe me, I wanted to. But I knew that I had to stay strong, at least for poor Jareth's sake. This is his first year of eligibility for the annual hunger games. He's a rather puny twelve year old, with dark hair and eyes. My first thought when he was called was, "Oh, no, poor Jareth." I mean, the kid didn't need this! He was the smallest kid in his class at school. But at least he has a family.

My parents were both killed; publicly executed after the stupid Peacekeepers of our district discovered that they had been poaching in the woods, a crime punishable by death. My parents were only trying to feed us. And by us, I mean me and my twin little brothers, Ram and Rafi. They were sent away to live with some distant relatives, leaving me with my uncle, Harrison. What's so bad about that? Harrison is head Peacekeeper of District 12.

All of these thoughts race through my head as I escape into the forest. I run for what seems like forever, then slow down after I reach a small clearing. After surveying my surroundings and making sure nobody is following me, I plop down on a boulder and open my potato sack.

My mouth drops open at what I find inside. It was too good to be true! A rolled up sleeping back, a flashlight and packet of batteries, a tube of chapstick, three packets of dried fruit, a small bottle of iodine, and a metal flask full of cool water await me inside the sack. I pull aside the sleeping bag to find a pair of gloves, a first aid kit, and a plastic packet. Opening the packet, I find an array of six different knives. How could I have gotten so lucky?

Then it dawns on me. This must be some kind of joke on the Gamemakers' part. I suddenly get a mental image of the Careers opening a backpack to find it empty. A crossbow falling apart with a single touch. I smile to myself. The Gamemakers switched everything! Instead of the supplies increasing in value the closer to the Cornucopia, they decreased.

I hear a cannon in the distance, followed by another. I wonder if the bloodbath is over yet. Suddenly, I think of Jareth. Small, vulnerable Jareth. All alone with a pack of Careers loose. If he's still alive, that is. I feel horrible. What was I thinking? Jareth couldn't defend himself against a whole army of Careers!

I take a few small sips of water and wonder what time it is. I quickly make sure that nobody is around, then slip into my sleeping bag, which I situated in a cavelike cove of rocks. Right when I begin to doze off, I hear something. My eyes fly open, and I realize that it is raining. I stuff my supplies in my sack, arrange the throwing knives in my belt, and try to get a good look at what caused the noise. It is a _who_, not a what. Jareth glares at me through a cluster of bushes. I sag with relief.

"Oh, Jareth, it's just you." He steps out of the brush.

"It took _forever_ to find you," is all he says, shining a flashlight in my face. Suddenly, I realize that he has a deadly looking dagger in his right hand. I draw my own. Jareth steps across the opening of my cave. He does it casually enough, but then I notice that he is blocking my only exit. I'm trapped.

"So, now," Jareth polishes his dagger on his T- shirt. "You die," he points it at me. I just stare at him in confusion. I still feel groggy from sleep.

"Wha….? But… I thought we were allies," I stammer. Jareth laughs harshly and lunges. Everything goes into slow motion. Since my uncle is head Peacekeeper, he always insisted that I learn how to fight and use weapons. As Jareth comes at me, six years of training under Peacekeeper Harrison kicks in. I roll to the right, and his knife sinks into the earth where I was just laying. There is a moment of confusion, and he hesitates. In that moment, I kick the dagger out of his hand and pin him to the ground. His forehead and upper lip are drenched in sweat. We are both breathing hard. Slowly, an odd smile creeps onto Jareth's face. Before I can react, he whistles three unwavering notes loudly. I find myself laughing at his pathetic defense.

Then the realization that he was signaling someone hits me. I swear under my breath and grab my sleeping bag, stuffing it into the potato sack hurriedly. As I stumble to the entrance, Jareth grabs my foot from behind and twists; hard. I cry out in pain before I remember that I am being hunted. I kick back as hard as I can, and am rewarded with a satisfying crunch and a shrill string of obscenities that I never knew were in Jareth's vocabulary. I smile in spite of myself and take off through the forest, as fast as my throbbing foot will allow.

After several moments, as I limp along, I hear twigs snapping and dry leaves crackling under someone's feet. I stop at a large oak tree and start to climb, dragging my injured foot along behind me. Finally, I reach a high enough branch. Geez, it's a good thing Harrison included tree climbing in my training.

As I pull myself up onto the sturdy branch, a cannon goes off in the distance. Someone runs by my tree. It's Jareth. Only, he is running _from_ something or someone. I see a flash of red, and a muscular looking guy comes barreling after Jareth, leaving a clear trail of blood on the forest floor. My first impulse is to jump down and help Jareth escape, but then I remember how he betrayed me. If I help him, and he lives, won't he just turn on me, too? And then there's my twisted ankle to worry about. I'd probably be dead within minutes.

Curiosity wins out, and without a second thought, I secure my bag to a branch, check my belt to make sure my knives are there, and begin my descent of the tree. When I reach a low enough branch, I peek through the thick foliage. The sight that awaits me turns my blood to ice.

Jareth and the boy from District 11 are hacking away at each other, Jareth with a dagger, his enemy with a sword. This should've given the guy from 11- Flick, I think he is called- a serious advantage. Jareth is bleeding profusely from a gash in his arm. Flick has got blood pouring from a neck wound. Suddenly, I realize that Jareth is gaining the upper hand. Flick desperately dives at Jareth, who somersaults to the side, then comes up on one knee and plunges his weapon into Flick's back.

I want to shut my eyes and plug up my ears, but my eyes stay glued to the horrific scene in front of me. Blood spurts from Flick's maimed body, and I know that his agonized scream will haunt me forever.

So, it turns out Jareth is going to be a serious threat. And earlier, I was feeling _sorry _for the kid. A cannon booms. Just then, the Capitol anthem begins to play. I hoist myself back onto the higher branch and watch the Capitol seal appear in the twilit sky. Many faces appear, but I only recognize some of them from training. Then, Flick's face appears, followed by the Capitol seal. The sky goes black again. I count up the dead tributes with my fingers. Fourteen of us left.

That night, I get little to no sleep, because I can't stop thinking about Flick. Was _he_ the one I should have protected? But then, he was wounded. I remember the trail of blood through the forest. Whenever I close my eyes, I can still see his lifeless, bloodied body, and hear the shriek of agony.

When morning finally comes, I haul my pack down from the tree and hop down. I wince as my injured foot comes in contact with the ground, and begin the long trek downhill, away from the Cornucopia. As I hobble along, the ground starts getting muddier, the air thicker and more humid. By the time I stop to rest, my clothes are plastered to my body, my hair in disarray. I sit down. Take a swig of water from my flask, and munch a piece of dried fruit, pondering my situation. I seem to be heading into swampland, so I won't be near fresh water for a while. Suddenly, I regret how much food and water I have consumed since entering the arena. I should be rationing my provisions!

"Terrica…" hisses a almost reptilian voice off to my right. I draw my dagger, instantly alert. A cannon goes off. 13 tributes left.

"Terrica…" now the voice is behind me. I whirl around, trying to find the source of the noise. Something wraps around my waist and yanks me off my feet. I face my attacker, perspiration dripping in my eyes. I gasp in horror at the sight that awaits me.

**End Part 1**


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2: The Rescue

A monstrous vine is wrapped around my waist, squeezing tighter and tighter by the minute. The swamp is alive with them, all trying to get ahold of me. It must be some kind of muttation that the Gamemakers invented. Another vine snatches up my left arm. I cry out in pain as it slowly tries to pull off my arm. The pressure from the plant around my waist becomes unbearable. Finally, I can't help myself.

"Help! Somebody help me!" I scream at the top of my lungs. No answer. I know, screaming is not the smartest thing to do in an arena full of bloodthirsty Careers, but _you_ try to stay quiet when a muttation is squeezing the life out of you.

Suddenly, the vine wrapped around my arm goes limp, followed by the one on my abdomen. I fall to the ground, gasping in relief, and retch. I have no idea what I am throwing up, as I haven't eaten in several hours, at least. Finally, I gain control of myself and stop vomiting.

A woman is standing over me, a sword in her right hand and a tattered cloth in her left. She hands the cloth to me, and I accept it gratefully, wiping the dribble from my chin. Taking the metal flask out of my pack, I slowly take a few short sips, clearing my mouth of bile. I notice the green goo dripping from my rescuer's blade.

"Who… who are you?" I manage to get out. She chuckles.

"I'm Gwynneth." I get a closer look at her face and realize that she is much younger than I had thought. For some reason, I had thought that she was a woman. But of course not, because she is in the hunger games. Gwynneth offers me a hand up.

"But, why haven't you killed me yet?" I ask in confusion. She laughs again. But this time, it ends as a choked sound; almost a sob.

"I'm not like the other Careers," is all she says. Then I see the number two stitched across the back of her shirt. I hear a cannon go off. 12 tributes left.

"So, are we like, allies now?" I ask her, rubbing my shoulder. Gwynneth shrugs.

"Well, we haven't killed each other yet. I guess that makes us allies." A moment of silence ensues.

"By the way, thanks for saving my life," I say, flushing with embarrassment at how pathetic it sounds. My rescuer only laughs and pats me on the shoulder. The friendly gesture surprises me; it seemed almost….. motherly.

"So, where is your little District 12 friend?" she asks me, taking stock of her supplies. My surprise at this must show on my face, because she looks up and says, "I've been watching you, Terrica. You are quite handy with those knives of yours." Coming from anyone else, this would sound creepy, but the way Gwynneth tells me this, it's like she was looking out for me; guarding me. What bothers me is how she knows my name, considering we just met. Then I remember what she said about keeping an eye on me. She must have picked it up along the way.

Suddenly, there is a rustling sound nearby. Gwynneth immediately stuffs her things back in the pack. She puts a finger to her lips and slowly makes her way toward the sound, sword drawn. I do the same, careful not to step on any twigs or dried leaves.

A wild rabbit darts out of the bushes, and Gwynneth bursts into laughter. I join her, and we lean against each other. It feels good after all the pressure of survival lately.

Someone jumps out into the open, eliding an axe. We both stop laughing and jump to our feet, and I get this sudden sense of utter doom. Gwynneth is staring at him, clearly trying to suppress the fear threatening to spill out in her demeanor. It's her fellow District 2 tribute.

"Gwynn," he snarls. "You should have stayed with the pack." Despite the fact that he is much bigger than her, Gwynneth sets her jaw determinedly and takes a step forward. I fear for my friend's life, because her grip tightens on the hilt of her sword, and her eyes narrow in determination. But there is something else there, too. All of the stress seems to leave her body, and Gwynneth exhales slowly. Despite the fact that he is much bigger than her, my friend says,

"I would never join your group of murderers, Gavin. You are all a bunch of fools." And then, she does something so gutsy and courageous that it gives _me_ newfound courage. Gwynneth spits in Gavinaugh's face. He turns purple with rage, lets out a shriek, and swings his blade at her face. She drops to the ground and rolls aside in an attempt to escape her attacker's weapon. He nearly chops off her hand, opening a jagged wound in her arm.

"Run, Terrica!" Gwynneth screams at me. Naturally, when she gives the command, my feet are rooted to the ground. Gavinaugh seems to notice me for the first time. The look on his face seems to wake me up. Without a second thought, I unhook a dagger from my belt and hurl it at Gavinaugh. It lodges in his chest, but he just stares at it, unmoving. Gwynneth's breath is coming in uneven rasps now, blood pooling on the forest floor.

All of the sudden, Gavin's body is pulled backward violently. He claws at thin air, desperately trying to free himself from the monster vine. I watch with grim satisfaction mixed with horror as it squeezes him to death. A cannon booms. I drop to the ground at Gwynneth's side.

"Go," she croaks.

"No," I whisper. "You are going to live." Digging my medicine kit out of my pack, I try to stem the flow of blood pouring from her wounds.

Gwynneth just smiles faintly, which makes me start to cry. Suddenly, her eyes lock on mine, and she grasps my hand.

"Win for me," she rasps, her eyes taking on a burning, almost feverish, intensity.

"I will," I respond hoarsely. Then, her eyes glaze over and I close them gently. A cannon goes off, and just like that, both tributes from District 2 are gone. I start to walk away, then stop and turn around. I lift the three middle fingers of my left hand to my lips and hold them out to her. Before I can start to sob again, I wipe the tears from my face, grab up Gwynn and mine's bags, and start running. My ankle protests fiercely, but I keep going.

Soon, I realize that I've left swampland. Emerging into a clearing, I spot a bubbling stream and strip to my underclothes. With a sigh of relief, I step into the cool water and sink down on my knees. I twirl the water around my fingers absent- mindedly. After a while, I step out onto the mossy ground and proceed to rummage through the packs.

Gwynneth's backpack contains a dagger, a few pieces of wild squirrel, a half-full flask of water, and a pouch of edible nuts and berries. I condense all of these things, deciding to use Gwynneth's pack, as it has shoulder straps and is much more portable. Then, I begin to build a makeshift splint for my foot. After setting my ankle, I bathe for a few minutes more, and rinse my clothes.

When I'm finished, I feel considerably better. Physically, at least. But inside, there is a hole in my heart. Even though I've known her for such a short time, Gwynneth made me feel secure- at least as secure as I _could_ feel in the arena. Now I feel bare, vulnerable, exposed. I pull my hair back and begin to dress.

That night, I climb another tree. I can feel my heart; a raw, stinging lump in my chest break when I see Gwynneth's face appears in the sky. _Why do I feel so close to a career? Why can't I just let her go, like all the other dead? _I keep asking myself. There are now 10 tributes alive. Surprisingly, I am able to sleep fairly well. Maybe because of the exhausting battle with Gavinaugh.

When I awaken, the sky is a fresh pink color. I manage to choke down a few berries and leftover squirrel, washing it down with a long pull from my flask. I start walking in no particular direction, my pack slung over my good shoulder, a dagger clutched in my fingers. I'm not sure how much time passes, but soon, after trekking through the woods, I come across a stream. Bending down to drink, I don't notice the flecks of purple until it is almost too late. I sit back on my heels.

A memory flits through my head. Ah, yes. One of Harrison's survival lessons. He had told me that purple almost always means poison. On impulse, I throw the remains of my squirrel in the water and watch as it shrivels up to nothing. Quickly, I memorize the clearing where the stream is located. An extra weapon against the other tributes.

When I start walking again, I realize that the hurt in my ankle has gone down considerably. I look down to see that the swelling has, too. Just then, a herring flits up onto an overhanging branch and perches there. I throw my knife, ending its life on impact. Cleaning the weapon on a patch of grass, I wrap up the herring in a piece of cloth and stuff it in my pack.

I'm walking along a narrow dirt path when I see him. Jareth is stumbling through the trees toward me, covered in blood. His stomach is ripped open, the arm wound that he got from Flick is oozing purple and yellow, and bruises cover his face and body. My feet are frozen to the ground.

"They're coming!" he gasps at me. Jareth's eyes are wild as he hobbles closer. He barely makes it a few feet away when his intestines spill out onto the ground and he collapses at my feet, dead. I hear the cannon go off, and I start running right away. I can hear someone- wait, more than just one person- crashing through the undergrowth.

As I run for my life, naturally, my stupid foot begins to throb. Someone shoves me from behind, and I fall forward onto the leaf-littered ground. A blade presses into my arm, deeper and deeper in my flesh. I feel a kick in my side, and pain explodes through my body like electric shocks. Shouts and curses fill the air, and my vision goes black.

**End Part 2**

_**Hey everybody! I love to hear what people have to say, so tell me what you think. Reviews and constructive criticism appreciated**_____

_** ~ Ella Norway~ **_


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